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Frosted fields lie still,
Fires plead beneath the stars—
Branches reach in skyward prayer
No one sleeps,
Not the beasts,
Not the spirits,
Not the ancient ones.
Then a gold thread unravels
And a blush of dawn unfolds.
Ancients watch with misting eyes,
As light warms the earth.
Prompt adapted from Zebadri's Thundercat
https://deepdreamgenerator.com/ddream/rq7udu4av0k